Cleric Is Dead - Prologue
Welcome to Purgatory Cleric sat on his high throne above the Purgatory. His eyes shone a grey light that radiated across the spinning walls and shimmering people miles below. There was much clamoring and cavorting in the trenches of the ephemeral abyss, as it's inhabitants discussed many things ranging from alphabet soup to the state of the land. He stared down, and down, and down, seeing all the people who came from here and there looking for sanctuary, or maybe some form of solace. He saw the masses churn in a frenzy of thought. But who watches over the king? * * * Young Basit's lonely eyes wandered across the mountain upon which Cleric sat. He wondered if the good Creator ever got lonely up there; he never says a word more than a few times per day, mostly popping in to Purgatory to give a few quick quips or remind people of the governing laws. He began to climb the mountain. It was a good hour later before Basit finally arrived at the summit.. "Hello, Sir! Mind if I sit down?" No answer. Basit starts forward, but hesitates. There is no sound up here, he realizes. That perfect, deafening silence with which only heartbeats are present. The kind of silence you only hear when you're dead. "Well, uh, whatever, If you're not cool with it, I mean.." Still no answer. The wind picked up almost in-perceptively, but it was that kind of wind that beckons you oh so coquettishly. Basit frowns. Usually, he doesn't bother Cleric, as the Creator doesn't respond to most calls from below during daylight hours, but rather at his leisure. "...Cleric..?" He slowly walks towards the towering throne, the stone covered in over a decade of calcified shit and the bodies of those who opposed his wrath- "Sir-?" Basit dared to touch the sleeve of the great Cleric of Madness, but that was the least of his concerns, as the king slowly shifted forward, perhaps bending to get a better view- And as he did, his head rolled clean off. Basit had only so much time to scream bloody murder as the eyeless skull, bleeding profusely from it's severed neckline rolled off and into the abyss below. * * * Down below, nobody heard the young man's screams as people moved about in the endless maze of word. Something hard rolled down the halls, bouncing off unaware Outcasts' feet as they went about their business, talking of the High Council, the other far-away lands, the newest entertainment, the Gods that were... Someone sees the object rolling into a local brothel. The young man walks calmly with purpose into the steaming area, scooping up the misty object and leaving behind the calls of debauchery. It was inhabitants like these who had seen the worst of other's foolishness, so this was nothing. The fellow walks into the pseudo-sunlight. William See squints as the mist clears from his view, and he gasps at the bloody thing that he holds. It will be the one thing forever etched into his selective-memory. "Ye Gods," the Outcast cries. "Cleric is dead!" To be continued... Category:Mental Illness